spirit
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: Be the spark, he tells himself, be the spark, and suddenly his whole world is up in flames.
1. the call

**Okay, a little while ago in 'scarlet' I asked for prompts, and some of you responded. This is the first one, although I intend to write and publish the others as well. The prompt, from the always lovely gossgal33, was 'a fic where Lydia is killed and Stiles "goes out of his freaky mind"?' and that's what this is (well, sort of). There'll be three parts to this, and all are written by now, so amount of interest will determine how quickly I update. Not really any warnings for this chapter, other than, y'know, major character death in the first paragraph. But nothing too graphic this time around. The story takes place around Halloween, hence the timing of this.**

**Also. I suck at following timelines, so I have not a clue when anything happens in the show ever. So if the timing in this seems off/non-canon, just roll with it.**

**So, enjoy, review, and happy Halloween/Samhain/NaNoWriMo Eve/whatever you celebrate.**

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.

By some bizarre twist of fate, Lydia dies exactly one year after Allison, right down to the day. Although the pack won't know that until the next day, because unlike Allison, Lydia does not die in the arms of her first love, surrounded by her friends. She dies alone in her room on a Monday night, slogging her way through the first gigantic volume of a supernatural encyclopaedia.

.

This encyclopaedia is the first thing Stiles sees when he comes to pick her up for school on Tuesday morning.

.

The second thing he sees is her body.

.

In a panic, Stiles doesn't think to call the police, not even his dad. Instead, he calls Scott.

.

When the alpha arrives, Stiles has come to his senses enough to try to keep him out of Lydia's room. Scott, being captain of the lacrosse team and a true alpha to boot, barely has to nudge Stiles to get him out of the way.

The door creaks open.

The world shudders to a stop.

Scott falls to the ground, breaking the silence with an inhuman moan that crescendos into a howl. Stiles sinks to his knees beside his friend.

.

The howl dies away, and one by one the pack shows up.

.

Stiles doesn't say a word as he watches each of his friends fall apart.

Kira is inconsolable, covering her face with her hands and making a strangled whimpering noise behind them.

Isaac, returned from France for an impromptu visit, slams his fist into the wall, his claws scraping the plaster and his eyes glowing yellow.

Malia, usually in control of her impulses after a year of intense training, takes one look at the body before turning on her heel and sprinting away, and a second after the door slams a mournful wail rises up.

Derek is the last to show up, Liam having changed schools a few months back, and he just shakes his head wordlessly, looking faintly sick.

.

It takes five minutes for someone to think of calling 911, another fifteen for anyone to show up, and by the time school starts, Lydia's house is surrounded by flashing lights and filled with a heartbroken pack.

.

For the next week, Stiles plays a game of Fate, a bargaining game with the universe.

On the way to school he thinks, _If that red truck takes the next turn, Lydia's alive, _and watches as it speeds past the turn and carries on.

He tries again in math class. _If I get the next problem wrong, I'll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a horrible dream. _He follows each step as the teacher works through it on the board, and Stiles slams his book closed in frustration when he gets it right.

That afternoon he tells himself, _If I see a bird on the drive home, it means she's not really gone, _but the skies are clear and his heart is empty and it starts snowing, a full three months too early.

He gets an idea, but it's about three years too late.

.

On Monday, a week after she died, Lydia is laid to rest.

None of the pack speaks at her funeral – they didn't at Allison's either – but they're all there. Scott and Stiles in the front row, next to Mrs Martin. Kira, Malia, and Isaac are a row behind. Liam, back for the occasion, is sitting up the back with Derek. Mr Argent is standing by the door, a grim look on his face.

.

The tiny little church is full, overflowing, brimming with people who loved her.

And among the masses are a handful of people who actually knew her.

.

There's a wake after the service, but none of the pack attends. Instead they go back to Oak Creek, where they haven't been in a year. They stay in the courtyard, shivering in the early snow, standing in the early dark. They share stories about Lydia, about her strength and intelligence and perseverance. A bottle of whiskey gets passed around, more for tradition than any expectation of effect since only two of their number are even susceptible to it.

.

Stiles gets blindingly drunk and Scott has to support him to the car.

.

Kira drives them home, her eyes bright with concern and foxfire shimmering around her, a clear sign of her anxiety. Scott's eyes flash red every now and then, as if he can't control himself. Stiles doesn't see any of this; he's passed out on the back seat, curling into himself, breathing deeply and shivering occasionally.

.

He dreams of her that night, for the first time since it happened.

She smiles at him and brushes his cheek with her hand and tells him that everything is going to be okay.

He calls her a liar and wakes up in a cold sweat.

.

The idea is simple, the execution a little more complicated.

It was the supernatural that did this – without magic and curses and goddamn werewolves, Lydia would still be alive. So would Allison. And Scott and Stiles would just be two geeky, awkward teenagers.

And maybe everything would be okay.

.

If the supernatural did this, Stiles reasons, then the only thing he can do is avoid it completely.

No kitsunes.

No druids.

No banshees.

No werecoyotes.

No phoenixes.

No werewolves.

Nothing.

.

His friends don't take kindly to this idea.

.

Stiles doesn't care.

.

A month after Lydia's death – natural causes, apparently, surprising but unavoidable, due to some condition Stiles can't even spell – and Stiles is entirely alone.

.

The pack had tried to reach him, of course.

For a week straight, Kira had made him cupcakes every day. He threw them all in the trash.

Malia came to visit a few times, no hard feelings despite their breakup eight months ago. She brought him pizza and tried to get him to talk and he wouldn't even look her in the eye.

Derek took over then, dropping by Stiles' house during school hours and asking him how he was. Stiles' anger had no effect on the werewolf, but his silence finally got the best of him and the welfare checks stopped.

Isaac and Liam visited him together, both having decided to stay in Beacon Hills for the time being, and they both looked incredibly uncomfortable. But they stayed until he promised he was okay.

.

That night he dreamed of Lydia again, and this time she was the one who called him a liar.

.

Scott is the only one who hasn't given up, and Stiles loves and hates him for it in equal measures.

.

As Halloween approaches, Stiles loses his mind. At least, that's what he thinks at first. He starts to see Lydia – in the halls at school, by the side of the road on his way home, in his bedroom at night. She doesn't say anything, just watches him silently, and he ignores what he assumes is a hallucination.

But then he has a thought.

This is Beacon Hills.

Anything is possible.

.

That night she comes to him like a shadow, the slightest hint of a smile softening her features and her eyes sparkling with starlight.

"Are you a ghost?" he whispers and her smile grows.

She raises a hand and beckons to him, and, as he always has and always will, he follows.

.

Lydia's room, unsurprisingly, is filled with books.

What is surprising is that there's a loose page lying on her bed, looking like it's been torn out of an old book. Stiles approaches slowly, glancing around. Lydia's ghost – if that's what had led him here – is gone.

The page feels fragile in Stiles' hand, like the slightest movement will cause it to collapse into dust. As he scans the title, Stiles feels his heart speed up.

He carefully folds the page, tucks it into his pocket, and exhales slowly. His gaze drifts to a picture on the nightstand: Lydia is smiling at the camera, a rose pinned in her hair and an actual honest-to-god rainbow in the background.

"It's okay," he tells the picture, "it's all going to be okay."

.

And it is.

.

Because he's going to bring her back.

.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**TBC.**


	2. the answer

**For some reason I always get surprised when people actually review my fics. So, thank you! And I hope you all enjoy the next part.**

**Warnings: character death, blood, general creepiness. Also if you come across some things that aren't canon then just assume that for the sake of this story they are.**

**And on we go to the chapter...**

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.

Resurrection is difficult, the page tells him, but not impossible.

It will take immense willpower, incredible amounts of magic, and intense concentration.

If he does one thing wrong, he could die.

But if he doesn't do anything, he's as good as dead anyway.

.

The prospect of the ritual gives Stiles a renewed sense of purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning, and a glint in his eye that borders on unstable.

.

Since the supernatural is responsible for this, he reasons, it's the only thing that can fix it.

.

Feigning a breakdown, Stiles ingratiates himself with the pack through the virtue of (feigned) vulnerability. Scott welcomes him back and Stiles cries into his shoulder and for a moment everything feels almost okay.

It doesn't take long for it to fall apart again, but this time Stiles can brace himself for the fall.

.

With bruised knees and scraped hands Stiles struggles to his feet. The battle rages on around him and there, in the middle of the chaos, he sees her.

Eyes bright, hair fluttering around her shoulders, wearing the same clothes she died in.

Lydia.

.

She calls his name, a sound he feels rather than hears, and Stiles stumbles toward her. Then someone else is calling his name, barely audible above the yelps the snarls, and something heavy slams into him.

And he's gone.

.

"You could have died," Scott snaps later that day. "What the hell were you thinking, sprinting into the middle of the fight like that?"

The rest of the pack watches nervously, still reeling from the sight of Stiles being knocked to the ground by the enemy alpha.

"I saw her," Stiles mumbles into the silence, "I saw Lydia."

No one challenges him, but the sympathy in their eyes is even worse.

.

Over the next week, Stiles gathers the ingredients for his ritual. A lot of it is symbolic and open to interpretation. But the book (or rather, the page of it he has) stresses one thing: power. Without enough power the ritual won't work. And there's one kind of magic that always raises that kind of power.

Blood magic.

.

Deaton, as the resident druid, is the first person Stiles consults. After listening patiently to Stiles' jumbled explanation he politely asks if he's lost his mind.

"Probably," Stiles says absently, "but that's not the point."

A long silence, and then, "What you're suggesting is extraordinarily dangerous -"

"I didn't ask if it was dangerous." Stiles grits his teeth, glances at Lydia out of the corner of his eye. "I asked if it was possible."

"In theory, yes," Deaton starts, "but -"

"Thanks, Doc," Stiles interrupts, and is gone without another word.

Lydia walks home with him, smiling all the way.

.

Given how often the pack dives into danger, it's surprisingly difficult to get their blood.

.

Stiles knows he's going crazy, but Lydia tells him it's okay, and even as a ghost she's the smartest person he's ever met.

.

He gets Kira's blood first, from a nosebleed of all things. He catches her as she staggers back during lacrosse practice, their teammate shouting his apologies and Coach muttering profanities. Using a tiny, spelled vial he got from an occult store a few towns over, Stiles collects a drop of Kira's blood, comforting her all the while.

.

To Stiles' surprise, Parrish shows up two days later, having returned from his stint at a station in the next town. When Stiles visits his dad at the station he sees Parrish interviewing a guy with an eyebrow piercing and a scowl to rival Derek's, and a few minutes later the newly-reinstated Deputy is clutching his arm while the Sheriff prises a knife out of Scowly's hands. Stiles seizes his opportunity and helps Parrish over to the first aid kit, and by the time the Sheriff comes back Stiles is in possession of a tiny vial of phoenix blood.

.

Druid blood would be ideal, but Deaton is on his guard. So Stiles does the next best thing and acts on a hunch. Another lacrosse practice, another accident, and Stiles gets a drop of Danny's blood. Druid or not, blood is blood.

.

The full moon provides an opportunity for Stiles to get close to Malia. Although most of the time she's in control of her powers, on full moons she still doesn't like to be alone. Stiles volunteers to keep her company, and it doesn't take much to provoke her into a change. In her frenzied state she scratches herself, and Stiles ends up with the blood of a werecoyote.

.

Kitsune, phoenix, druid, werecoyote.

Human.

Five vials, and five days until Halloween.

.

On October 29th, the pack takes on the rogue alpha again. Stiles rushes into danger, heedless, thoughtless, seeking only the blissful chaos and the heat of battle. Scott has to drag him out of harm's way several times, dodging werewolf claws and fangs and almost certain death.

At the end of the fight, Scott takes Stiles aside and very calmly warns him, "If you don't stop being so reckless, I'm going to kill you myself."

"Maybe you should," Stiles spits back, and he stalks away without waiting for a response.

As he makes his way across the bloodstained battlefield, Lydia walks beside him like a guardian angel.

.

Two days later, by unanimous vote, Stiles is officially banned from future pack missions.

Stiles skipped the meeting during which they decided this, so Scott comes over later to fill him in.

"What happened to you?" Scott asks, voice pained and eyebrows furrowed. "I know you're still dealing with… with everything… but I thought it was getting better. I thought you were okay."

Stiles' gaze slides past Scott, landing on Lydia. She hasn't left his side since the last battle, and she looks as beautiful, as ethereal as ever. And the strange thing is, she looks alive.

"Stiles?" Scott asks, leaning forward and gazing earnestly at his friend. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Stiles watches as Lydia inclines her head, silently gesturing to the baseball bat Stiles keeps by his bed.

"You're not." Scott clears his throat, waiting – hoping – for a response. "Is there – is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah." Stiles has just enough time to register the surprised flicker of hope in Scott's eyes before the swish and thud of the bat. "You can stay out of my way."

Scott topples to the ground, out cold, and Stiles steps over his body on the way out the door.

.

It's Halloween. The only time Stiles could walk into a cemetery carrying vials of blood and accompanied by a ghost without feeling completely insane.

Lydia watches silently as Stiles sets up for the ritual, unpacking his duffel bag and laying out the tools and ingredients he'll need.

The grave marks the center of the ritual space. Around it, forming a rough square, Stiles places four items: a bowl of salt, a bowl of water, a stick of incense, and a burning candle.

Then he sits cross-legged in front of Lydia's headstone, a small pewter bowl resting in the dirt before him.

In the distance he can hear kids trick-or-treating, parents shepherding, dogs barking. But it all feels a world away.

.

Magic starts to shimmer around him as Stiles tips each vial of blood into the bowl, naming each as he goes.

.

"Phoenix," he says, "for fire."

Drip.

.

"Coyote, for earth."

Drip.

.

"Druid, for water."

Drip.

.

"Kitsune, for air."

Drip.

.

"Human, for spirit."

Splash.

.

Magic whips around him like a wolf howl, and he closes his eyes and focuses, reciting the spell in Latin, reading from the page clutched firmly in his hands, feeling like –

.

He's not alone.

.

As the spell gathers energy, Stiles becomes aware of someone approaching from behind. Someone calls his name, the voice as familiar as his own, but he doesn't turn. Scott can wait.

.

_Be the spark_, Stiles thinks to himself, and the candle starts to flicker, until suddenly it rises up, shooting a jet of flame high above it. _Be the spark._

.

"Stiles! Stop -"

The flame burns bright, hot, enchanting and primal and –

"_Stop_!"

The blood in the bowl bubbles up. The flames rise higher. The scent of the incense curls around him.

Stiles' mouth tastes like salt.

_._

_Be the spark, _he tells himself_, be the spark_, and suddenly his whole world is up in flames.

.

The air splits in front of him, shimmering like a portal, like a veil, like a doorway, and Stiles rises to his feet and walks forward.

.

He steps through.

.

But he's not alone.

.

Beside him, Scott breathes out slowly. "What the hell was that?" He blinks, looking around him in surprise. "Where are we?"

Stiles doesn't answer. His eyes are searching the gloom, still adjusting to the post-portal darkness. He can't see Lydia; he can't hear his heartbeat. He can't feel anything.

.

"Stiles," Scott snaps, his voice sharp with fear, "what happened?"

Turning to his friend, Stiles lifts his shoulder up in half a shrug.

.

"What happened," he says quietly, "is that we just died."

.

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**So, I have a new one-shot I'm going to publish soon. It's set in a foreign location and from the POV of a character I don't normally work with, so if you're excited about that then let me know and I'll try to have it up soon. (Mysterious enough for y'all?)**

**Anyway. One more chapter of 'spirit' left, and as always reviews motivate me to update more quickly. So show me you're enjoying the story, and I hope to see you all soon! **


	3. the veil

**Ohh, goodness. Usually I like to build a little more suspense before a final chapter, but man, you guys brought it with the reviews last time. You've earned this.**

**It's also interesting to know that you don't draw the line at blood rituals - you guys do realize you're encouraging me to go even darker and more disturbing with my stories, right? It's also interesting to see how you all react to what I write. Sometimes when I'm writing I don't even think about how the audience will react, but apparently when I kill both Scott and Stiles in one move, well, that gets you to sit up and take notice. Good to know. **

**(Also, in response to CMR, my crossover OTP is probably Crazy Spencer WITH Crazy Stiles. Have you seen the thing on Tumblr where Stiles hallucinates Spencer and they totally become friends and it's the most adorable thing ever?)**

**Anyway. Final chapter. Here we go. Reviews make me do a little happy dance (internally) and also keep my muse happy, so don't forget to let me know your thoughts. Here you go!**

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.

The Other Side.

It's dark, and it's cold, and there's a background noise like breaking waves. The only ones around are Scott and Stiles, walking through the endless night. Their footsteps don't make a sound.

.

"Wait," Scott says suddenly.

Stiles keeps walking.

"Stop." Scott jogs to catch up with him, dragging his friend back. "Look."

Ahead of them is a forest, thick trees rising up from the ground like towers, barely visible in the gloom.

"How do we get around it?" Scott asks softly, a hint of fear in his voice. "It looks like it goes on forever."

"It does." Stiles squares his shoulders, grits his teeth, and marches forward. "We don't go around it. We go through it."

And without a backward glance he strides into the trees.

.

Darkness.

Whispers.

Coldness.

.

After what feels like a lifetime, the trees thin and eventually end, and Stiles steps out into pale moonlight. A firefly flits past his face, landing in the grass a few feet away. A hundred more flutter in the air above his head, silhouetted against the sky and looking like stars themselves.

Stiles feels Scott come up behind him, senses anger dissipating. Wonder takes its place, and awe, and a sense of being –

"… scared?"

The boys share a look.

Neither of them had spoken.

.

The voice is distant, female, vaguely familiar but distorted by time and space.

And then the speaker slips out from the trees.

And she's not alone.

.

One by one the stars wink out, but the light from the fireflies illuminates the clearing.

In the pale golden light, Lydia looks like a goddess.

And Allison?

She looks like a ghost.

.

For an eternity, nobody moves.

And then Stiles breaks out of his trance and stumbles forward. Lydia moves to meet him, and he's reaching for her, and –

She slaps him.

.

"What the hell?" Stiles gasps, his hand flying to his face. It doesn't hurt, but he can feel the ghost of her touch.

_Ghost_ being the operative word.

.

.

"Stiles," Lydia says tersely, "you are the stupidest, most irresponsible guy I have ever met. I saw that spell, and you -"

.

"I missed you too," Stiles says quietly.

Lydia's words shudder to a stop.

And then she's kissing him.

.

Stiles has been in love with Lydia for years. He's kissed her before – they even tried dating once – but he'd never imagined anything like this.

Kissing Lydia Martin in the afterlife is nothing short of magickal.

.

After reunions, the four of them retire to the edge of the clearing, settling down on logs and boulders and on the dew-wet grass.

Now he's here, Stiles doesn't know what to say. Here they are, reunited, and he's as tongue-tied as he was the first time he saw her.

.

Lydia breaks the silence. "It wasn't me."

.

The words have no effect on Stiles. "I know," he says, and Lydia blinks in surprise. "Your ghost would never have been that helpful."

For a split second Lydia laughs, and Stiles gets lost in a sound he thought he'd never hear again. He glances over at Scott, who's watching Allison intently, and then the two of them share a smile. Stiles can't remember the last time they were all together like this.

The laughter fades away and Lydia bites her lip. "Then why did you –"

"- let a hallucination lead me into the afterlife?" Stiles supplies, and Lydia's mouth twitches into something almost like a smile. "Why do you think?"

She ducks her head and says no more on the issue.

.

Scott narrows his eyes, shifting his attention from Allison and back to Stiles. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember that time I said I saw Lydia?" Stiles says, not looking at Scott, although he can feel his friend stiffen beside him. "Well, it wasn't just once."

Scott leans forward, resting his head in his hands. "So that's how you knew which spell to do."

"And when to do it," Stiles says, and this catches the other three by surprise.

"What do you mean?" Allison asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Today's Halloween," Stiles replies, as if that answers everything. When he sees that it doesn't, he clarifies, "Also known as Samhain."

He pronounces it _Sam-hain_ and Lydia flinches.

"Samhain," she says, pronouncing it as _Sowen_, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"That's great," Allison says, "but does anyone want to explain what that _is_?"

"It's a pagan festival," Lydia says promptly. "Traditionally viewed as the time when -"

She cuts herself off, only just catching on. Her eyes widen.

"The time when the veil between worlds is thinnest," Stiles finishes. "The only time we could get through to you."

"When you say 'get through'…" Allison trails off, looking quizzically at Scott. "You didn't just cast a spell so you could see us? You actually… "

"Yeah," he says sheepishly, "we, uh, we had to die."

She slaps him.

.

They talk for another hour. Or two. Or a thousand. Time doesn't seem to mean a thing here. The stars don't move, the sun doesn't rise, nothing changes but the four people gathered in a clearing full of fireflies and false hope.

Lydia had been the one to watch the spell; Allison had been elsewhere in the afterlife, and had only received a jumbled explanation on the way to find the boys. She'd assumed they just cast a spell to see the afterlife, not actually be in it, and god, Stiles wishes it had been that easy.

.

"You need to go back," Lydia says at last. She's leaning her head on Stiles' shoulder and he's stroking her hair, a strange sensation for two people who are technically dead, but it feels oddly right.

"She's right," Allison pipes up from her place beside Scott. They're not touching, since Scott is still with Kira, but they're so close a breath of wind could cause them to tumble into each other. "You can't stay here."

"And neither can you." Stiles nudges Lydia so she sits up, and then he looks into her eyes. "You have to come back."

"I can't." Her voice is quiet, but her eyes are determined. "It was a natural death, Stiles. We can't fix that."

Something in Stiles' mind begins to shiver. _Natural death_. He'd forgotten. Honest to god, he'd forgotten that Lydia hadn't been killed by some supernatural entity. It seems that's all that ever happens in their lives.

"But we can fix it," Scott says passionately. In the time they've been here, he's managed to talk himself into being on Stiles' side – into literally thwarting death in order to get his friends back. "You can come back through with us."

"It won't work," Lydia argues. "The spell you used, it was only to bring you through, wasn't it?"

Reluctantly, Stiles nods.

"Which means it will only work to bring you two back."

The boys share a look.

"What?" Allison asks suspiciously.

"I was the one who did the spell," Stiles admits. "Scott kind of… hitchhiked."

They all turn to Lydia, who made a small squeaking noise. Stiles raises his eyebrows in a silent question, and Lydia shakes her head silently. Then she says, "Stiles, if you were the only one who did the spell… then that means you're the only one who can leave."

.

As soon as the words are spoken, the spell begins to shimmer. Stiles can see it, can feel it, can tell there isn't much time. The fireflies begin to quiver, until eventually, one by one, they drift away. The sky begins to lighten, preparing for the coming dawn.

The clearing is deathly silent.

.

"No." Stiles stares at Lydia, begging her to understand. "We didn't come all this way just to have to say goodbye. I can't lose you again, Lyds. Please -"

She cuts him off with a kiss, but they both know it's a farewell.

"Wait," Allison says suddenly. "I have an idea."

.

Samhain.

Halloween.

The time when the veils between the worlds are thinnest.

The only time when something this crazy could actually work.

.

It takes another hour of discussion for them to all agree. The sun has risen, but the stars haven't faded, leaving behind a bizarre composite sky – neither night nor day but in between.

Slowly, the group stands up, and they start making their way back into the forest.

.

It seems smaller than it was before, and takes merely a minute to pass through.

.

On the other side, they can see the veil. The spell was magnified, using the natural magic of Samhain, and it just might be enough to get them all through. The girls were reluctant about coming back, but it was the only way they could get Stiles and Scott to leave.

The four of them stand in front of the veil, waiting, watching, thinking, hoping –

.

With a crack like thunder, the veil disappears.

.

A rush of wind knocks them off their feet. Stiles reaches blindly, grabbing onto Lydia's hand, and she squeezes back as hard as she can. They can hear Scott's cry of surprise and Allison's yelp as the two groups are separated.

The wind begins to swirl, lifting up grass and dew and even the fireflies, spinning faster and faster until it becomes a vortex –

.

The sound of breaking waves becomes unbearably loud.

.

The pressure of the wind threatens to crush them all, pinning them down.

.

The light from the fireflies bleeds into each other to become a blinding blur.

.

Then another crack of thunder splits the world in two, and Stiles feels himself ripped to his feet and thrown forward by some unseen cosmic hand.

.

Compared to this, dying was nothing.

.

When Stiles finally opens his eyes he sees the veil in front of him, flickering faintly, until it disappears altogether. The sun is slipping over the horizon, spilling pale rays of pink and yellow across the sky.

Beside him, he can feel Lydia trembling. He reaches for her, relieved to find that she's undeniably real. He looks around for the others, but he doesn't see them.

They realize it at the same time.

.

"The veil separated us."

.

"Scott and Allison are on the other side."

.

Lydia stumbles to her feet, dusts some dirt off her knees, and pulls Stiles up too. They look around them, realizing that this place is unfamiliar and vaguely menacing.

.

Samhain is over.

The veil is out of reach.

Scott and Allison are gone.

.

"Stiles," Lydia says slowly as they stare at the place the veil had been, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah." Stiles glances at her, and then back at the empty space where the veil used to be. And then he asks the question that neither of them can stand to hear the answer to.

.

"Which side of the veil are we on?"

.

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**Cliffhangers are my favorite thing.**

**As always I'm accepting prompts, but only one-shots at this stage (and it may be a little slower than usual because of NaNo). I will be publishing my mystery one-shot sometime this week, so stay tuned for that.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and I hope to see you all in the reviews!**


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